Go On Alternate Chapter 17
by Echo1317
Summary: Its like the bag is calling to him. He needs to know what's inside. He shouldn't look, he knows. If she'd wanted it touched, she would've moved it herself; if she'd wanted him to see it, she would have showed him. He shouldn't. He shouldn't. And yet… **Cap/OC, part of Go On-verse**


**A/N **Hello there! It's a bit late, but here's the first in 6 or so extras from my Captain America/OC story Go On. This is an alternate version of chapter 17, which I still loved, but I loved the other chapter that appears in the story more. I hope you like it like I do!

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Apparently spring cleaning is a ritual. Vivian does it every year, she says, like clockwork. Its mandatory, for her and Tony. Something almost spiritual.

"Course, we got busy last year," Vivian explains as she hands Steve yet another box from the top of the closer. "Saving the world and all."

"I bet," Steve adds the box to the pile and swings her down off the top of the ladder.

She grins. "I could get down myself, Cap."

Steve blushes. "I know. I just thought- I mean, I figured maybe- I, uh-"

"It's sweet," She kisses his cheek. He can feel it getting hotter. "I'm gonna run across the hall for more boxes."

When she goes, Steve looks around at their handiwork. So far, it just looks like they've made a bigger mess than it already was. There are things everywhere- stacked on the floor, on the bed, on the couch and end tables and bar. None of it organized. Only parts of it functional. Its in these moments that Steve flashes back to his childhood; everything in this one room is probably more than everything in his whole house in the 30's.

Well, at least the closet- "Hey, Vee? There's still something in the back here."

Steve goes to the very back of the closer and pulls out the very last piece of storage. It's a black duffel bag, smothered with years worth of dust and neglect. It looks like it hasn't seen the last few spring cleanings. He sets it on the end of the bed and is about to walk away, but…

Its like the bag is calling to him. He needs to know what's inside. He shouldn't look, he knows. If she'd wanted it touched, she would've moved it herself; if she'd wanted him to see it, she would have showed him. He shouldn't. He shouldn't.

And yet…

Steve picks the bag up by its strap and sets it on the dresser, slipping the zipper open in one quick motion before he can change his mind. And inside is… well, its note what he expected. Not that he knows what he expected, really. Drugs, maybe. Something else illegal. A secret collection of beanie babies.

But, no. No, its none of those things. Its something far more terrifying.

A picture of a man and a woman. A letter, folded in half, sealed with a kiss. A woman's charm-riddled necklace. A book without a jacket. A key. Some bottle caps. Some clothes. An empty bag of wildflower seeds.

Steve knows what this is, this bag of _things_, thrown haphazardly together as if in a terrible hurry. He knows because he's been of the receiving end of it before. And, he supposes, though he doesn't remember, the giving.

This is someone's life. Or the remnants of it, anyway. Those things that are passed to the next of kin in the event of a tragedy. Judging by the contents, this must've been a tragedy in the first place.

"Alright!" Vivian's voice drops the picture from his hand as she comes back in. "Boxes big enough to fit the Taj Maha-"

Steve freezes at her pause. He's in trouble now. He steels himself for the onslaught of her fury, open for the first blow.

"Oh," Vivian simply says, dropping the boxes as if they shocked her, much the way he dropped the photo. "You opened the bag."

Somehow her softness is worse than if she'd hit him, verbally or otherwise. He swallows thickly, biting back a rising fear. "Who- whose is it?"

"Mine, I suppose," Vivian muses in a way that speaks of a long felt melancholy. She comes to stand next to him, lifting out a balled up shirt from under the things and hugging it protectively to her chest. "Though before that, it was my boyfriend's. Evan's."

"Why doesn't he have it still?" Steve asks as she thumbs through the bag, turning each item over carefully in her hands before moving on to the next. He thinks he knows the answer already.

"He died," Vivian murmurs, so much the opposite of what Steve usually expects of her that he's shaken.

Steve can't think of anything to say but, "I'm sorry."

"It was years ago now," She has this funny smile on her face, like she's halfway to crying and halfway to bursting into laughter. "He's much better off wherever he is now than he ever was here."

Steve chances a gentle touch, trailing his fingers along her shoulder and hooking them around her waist as she leans back against his chest. He kisses her head. She sighs softly, dragging the pads of her fingers almost reverently across the cover of the book.

She opens it up and sides her finger down, reading where she touches in that soft, sweet voice of hers. "_Well, let it pass, he thought; April is over, April is over. There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice_."

Vivian smiles softly and lets the book fall back into the bag. A long sigh is dragged out of her as she curls her arms around herself protectively. Steve's heart squeezes painfully for her.

"He sounds important." Steve murmurs against her hair, this time dragging a harsh laugh out of her.

"No, he wasn't," Vivian tells him almost bitterly. "He was a dropout and a druggie and a fucking wanna-be philosopher, but he was _not_ important."

"He was to you," Steve brushes a kiss against her shaking shoulder. She lifts a hand up to cover her mouth and cheek, letting out a quivering breath.

"I really miss him sometimes," She confesses. "Fucking wanker."

Steve's voice is almost a whisper. "Did you love him?"

"Yes," Vivian says softly, "But I wasn't _in _love with him, no."

Steve slides his other arm around her middle and holds her tight. She relaxes back against him, letting him hold her up. He keeps his mouth firm against the bare of her shoulder, cool and shivering.

"I'm sorry," Steve says gently. "I shouldn't've brought it up, I had no idea."

"It's alright," Vivian dabs at her eyes, smiling, almost. Huh. "I like thinking about him sometimes. He was Important. Capital I." She strokes back the fabric of the duffel strap, holding it carefully against itself. "He deserves to be remembered." She sets his things back in the bag, adding, so softly that Steve's not sure he heard her say it at all, "Everyone does."

The bag goes in a box with more of her things at the back of her closer. That night, Steve goes home and picks up a closed compass that he last opened at the tail end of the last great war. Peggy looks back at him, just like she did them, deserving to be remembered.

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**A/N** Whatcha think? Reviews are welcome, as always.

-Rachel


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